


Too Late

by SwanInProgress



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fix-It, Gold Sickness, Implied Kíli/Tauriel, M/M, Violence, battle of the five armies, but what did you expect, for the first bit anyway, lots of orc death, only kind of character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3247028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwanInProgress/pseuds/SwanInProgress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Where Gandalf doesn't arrive in time, and Thorin actually does throw Bilbo off the battlements. </p><p>(Deciding to continue with this, carrying on from the drabble I made.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> This was a drabble based off of a post I made on tumblr, about how people always write fics about Bilbo dying in BotFA instead of Thorin. I'm a sucker for some angst, so I was like, "What if he died before that though? Oh wait!" and this happened. Yay pain! :D

                His fury from the Hobbit’s betrayal raced through his veins, accompanied by the bitter sting of heartbreak. Thorin’s hands were fisted in blue fabric as he yanked the traitor to the short wall of the battlements, lifting him with ease. He ignored the whimpers that escaped the small creature’s throat. Such a crime against him, against his trust, could not go without punishment. Beyond even his kin, the king had believed Bil – believed the _thief_ could never deceive him like this. To take what rightfully belonged to the King Under the Mountain, and to bargain with his enemies no less! Those ungrateful humans would not partake of his wealth, and the filthy elves would not even see a fleck of gold on his watch. This mountain was _his_. Everything it contained belonged to _his_ people, to _his_ kingdom, and the pathetic Halfling staring with wide eyes would not sway him.

                Something at the back of his mind struggled to come forth and remind him who those eyes belonged to. Desperate to reach him, desperate to stop himself from lifting the Hobbit further over the edge, this _something_ relentlessly continued. This disturbance mattered not. Thorin’s judgment was complete, and this traitor would never again betray his trust.

                It happened so fast. Half of the Company didn’t believe he would do it, but the others were not so sure. When their king paused, Bilbo’s feet barely on the ledge, some moved in to grab the Halfling and the Dwarf before tragedy could strike. No hands could reach in time, however, as Thorin lifted his arms and released his grip in one devastating motion. Alarmed cries rang out as their burglar disappeared over the edge.

                The cloth fell away through his fingers as the dam in his mind burst, filling the king’s head with the truth. That final anguished look Bilbo gave him, full of sorrow and heartbreak, had pulled the last brick from the barricade formed by his sickness. The heavy fog lifted in time for Thorin to see it, for those blue eyes to be burned into his memory as they vanished over a stone wall.

                He couldn’t move, hands shaking in front of him. Bilbo was just there. His small Hobbit had just been there. His copper-haired, clever little creature from the Shire, who only ever wanted to drink tea and read books. The one who had saved them so many times, and had yet again shown unbelievable courage, risking himself for the sake of preventing a war. Blinded by gold-sickness, had Thorin really had the audacity to think that his Hobbit could ever act out of greed or malice?

                Breathing became difficult for the king. Dimly, he registered his youngest nephew’s voice, thick with grief and rage, though he could not hear the words.

                _“…after all he’s done for us! How could you?! He was trying to help, he was only trying to help!”_

                Thorin’s eyes were wide and unseeing as he stared where Bilbo had been moments before. Their friend had been ended by _his_ actions and greed. Though his hands bore no color, they may as well have been red. He couldn’t bring himself to look over the edge, to see the proof of what he had done, to see his soft, kind, gentle Hobbit bloodied and –

                The dwarf’s legs stumbled back of their own accord, away from the wall. Thorin felt the agony rip through his heart, sharper than any blade and devastating in its injury. How could he have let himself be pulled so deep by gold? How could he live with the blood of their innocent Hobbit on his hands? How would he ever face his kin after this? How would he ever rule his people, when he couldn’t even rule his own mind?

                Thorin yanked the crown from his head and dropped it, as though it was a viper ready to bite. He didn’t – _couldn’t_ – look at his nephews and cousins as he turned and fled into the mountain. Away from the place where he put an end to Bilbo Baggins, and his own heart.


	2. Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our dwarves are grieving, but then a miracle happens.

                Fili had to hold his brother back, arms wrapped around his middle, while the other struggled. The brunette was inconsolable as he yelled at their uncle and his voice became hoarse, cracking. Sobs wracked through Kili as his legs gave way and the two landed on their knees, the youngest turning to bury his face in his brother’s shirt. The blonde held him, trying to contain his own emotions for the sake of his family. On the opposite side of the king, the dwarf Bofur was in much the same state with his brothers behind him, though quiet in his bewildered misery. The ramparts were silent, save for the sounds of grief and shock.

                The eldest prince looked up defiantly at Thorin, expecting him to be unmoved by what he had done. He had not been their uncle, or their king for that matter, for a long while. This sickness had taken that dwarrow away some time ago, and Fili expected no remorse from this cold monster their father-figure had become.

                When the King Under the Mountain stepped back unsteadily, however, they knew whatever madness that seeped into his bones had fled, leaving only Thorin Oakenshield once more. It had left him to bear the pain of killing a loved one, and it was oh so evident on his face. His expression was one that Fili would never soon forget. One of shame and horror, heartache and guilt, all making a home deep in their king’s chest. The blonde prince realized bitterly that some small part of him was glad that his uncle felt these things. Perhaps it was cruel, but Fili could not find the urge to comfort his uncle at this moment.

                The host of dwarves were startled out of their distress by a loud _CLANG_ as Thorin’s crown hit the stone roughly, and they all watched as he turned away. Nobody stopped him, nobody moved to intercept his sudden retreat down the stairs that they had made. His quick footsteps echoed in the silence, until eventually, they faded with distance.

                Dwalin was unsure even himself what to do. The Halfling was close to all of them in some form or fashion, and none of them would want to do it, but the duty to retrieve the body was going to fall on someone regardless. They couldn’t just let the humans or the elves deal with it, of course. Not only because Bilbo had been their friend, but it was their fault he now lay mangled on the rocks.

                They hadn’t believed their king to be capable of such a thing. Thorin had been so close to the Hobbit. Even if Dwalin had once found himself a little sour that his best friend had chosen to trust Bilbo over him, he found small relief that the tiny man would never betray that trust. When the Arkenstone was revealed to be in the hands of Bard and Thranduil, of course it was impossible to believe that their Hobbit could hurt them so. As Bilbo confronted Thorin in the midst of his madness, they realized that once again, the small creature was merely acting out of loyalty and worry for his friends. He always thought of others before himself, and that lead to him ignoring the true danger of gold sickness in order to protect them.

                All this rushed through Dwalin’s head in a mere moment, as he moved closer to the wall. The dwarf braced himself for what he would see at the bottom of their stone barricade, as he leaned over to look down. He expected blood, of course, possibly something much worse. He was no stranger to gore.

                Still, what he didn’t expect was to see a handful of Laketown men gathered at the edge of their moat, helping a soaked but safe Hobbit out of the water. Dwalin couldn’t believe his own eyes!

                He snapped his head around to the rest of the grieving Company. “Quit your bawlin’, and get over here! Our burglar is still alive!”

                For a moment, no one moved. When it finally sank in, there was a mad scramble as everyone rushed to look down over the wall. There were sighs of relief, and exuberant cries at the sight of Bilbo Baggins, whole and very much not smashed on the rocks. He had passed over the deadly stone ground in his fall, somehow going just far enough to land in the water. How he missed the rubble, how he did not crack his skull on the bottom of the moat, was beyond them all. Luck seemed to follow the Hobbit just as much as danger did.

                The humans had dropped a heavy jacket over Bilbo’s shivering shoulders, and led him over to where Bard was. The new leader of Laketown had dismounted his horse in favor of meeting them halfway. He spoke with the group for a short while, and turned to their Hobbit, putting a hand on the small shoulder in a gesture of comfort. Words were exchanged quietly, before the two separated and Bard gave some sort of order. It was then that they watched Bilbo retreat with two of the men, farther and farther away from the mountain, not looking back even once. They couldn’t blame him, really. Not after that.

                “We must tell Thorin!” Kili suddenly spoke up. “You saw his face! Surely his sickness has passed?”

                “Aye, he needs to know,” agreed Balin, with a crease on his brow. “I fear now that our true king has returned, he may be suffering from an entirely different malady.”

                “He could be anywhere in this mountain by now,” Dori pointed out.

                Gloin gave a snort. “Well he can’t have gone too far. We haven’t even cleared half the paths yet!”

                Dwalin nodded over to the brothers Ri, and to Oin and Gloin. “You three search what you can of the upper levels, and you two take the West halls,” he commanded, turning to the brothers Ur next. “Search the East.”

                “What about us?” Kili asked instantly.

                The dwarf warrior said, “You’ll be comin’ with me to the lower levels.”

                Fili stepped forward, ready to follow as well, when Balin shook his head. “I’m afraid I need you here, lad. There are still two armies at our doorstep, and until Thorin is found, we are the ones they must speak with.”

                The blonde prince looked ready to argue, but after a moment, his shoulders slumped, understanding. He turned to grasp his brother’s shoulders, and with a fierce look, said, “Find our uncle, Kee.”

                Kili gave a sharp nod, and the dwarves were off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't entirely sure if I was going to continue this, or keep it as a ridiculously angsty one-shot. In the end, my sappy heart won over, and decided to continue with my plan of letting Bilbo survive. :D


	3. Fragile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo learns some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And to your left, we see more angst.

 

                Bilbo didn’t know what he expected, honestly. He knew the dwarf would be angry, of course, and perhaps snarl harsh words at him. It wouldn’t have been the first time, so Bilbo told himself that he would take whatever rage came his way, if it meant keeping his friends alive. The Gold Sickness had ensnared the king’s mind more than he had counted on, however.

                Though the enraged dwarf looked every bit like Thorin, he knew it was not his friend that grabbed his coat front, hauling him to the side of the battlements. The monster that dragged his back over the stone wall, and scraped his bare calves against its edges, was not the same person he had come to care for. The one who lifted him like he weighed less than child’s toy, the one who was demanding his life as payment for his thievery, was not Thorin. The Hobbit knew all these logical things in his mind, but his heart was a different matter. The pain from this treatment alone was enough to make him feel as though a razor danced in his chest.

                Then the tension in his coat was gone. The king’s grip was relinquished.

                And Bilbo’s heart shattered.

                He realized that he was only fooling himself when, for the briefest of moments, he thought he saw Thorin Oakenshield in those deep blue eyes. It could not have been though, for his Thorin was lost forever.

                The fall itself was only registered on an instinctive level, for as far as he was concerned, death wasn’t wholly unwelcome right then. Reflexes born of fear made his limbs move on their own and his foot made rather fortunate contact with the stone wall when he kicked out. Pain shot up his leg from this, though the action had caused the Hobbit to move further out during his rapid descent. Instead of the hard rocks and instant death that he was expecting upon his arrival at the ground, Bilbo hit icy cold water. Though the moat was deep, it was not quite deep enough to keep his back from thudding roughly against the bottom. The impact with the water was agonizing from that height, the shock of the temperature and the pain causing his body to go rigid, and it was all the Halfling could do not to gasp.

                His body was locked up, refusing to move. The right half of his back was on fire from breaking the water’s surface, and his lungs began to burn as well. When he finally forced his feet to push off of the moat’s floor, and yet more pain came from the foot he hit during the fall, reality began to set in for Bilbo Baggins. Not only could Hobbits not swim, but he was freezing and injured. This was the end. This was how his long journey would be finished – drowning, cold and heartbroken, having been deemed less important than a shiny rock…

                It was when black spots began encroaching on his vision that he became aware of movement in the water around him. A large arm wrapped around his middle, and he was suddenly moving upwards. Cold air hit his skin as he gasped for breath, blinking rapidly at the water trailing down his face, and through droplets on his lashes he realized his rescuers were men of Laketown. The one who had jumped in the moat was being helped out by another, as two more took care of Bilbo. They helped him to stand, though his foot ached and he was shaking violently, and a dry, thick coat was wrapped around him. The coat, being made for men, nearly dragged the ground, but it was welcome all the same.

                The two armies stationed in front of Erebor were quite the sight, the elves being organized and immaculate, whereas the Laketown brigade was more or less a large group of bedraggled, armed men. At the head of the elven ranks were the two kings, of course. Bilbo spotted Bard on his horse, next to the elk which Thranduil sat atop. As the Hobbit and his rescuers came closer, the leader of Laketown dismounted in an instant, taking quick strides to meet them. Bard was a good man, and his concern was plain for Bilbo to see.

                The one who had pulled him from the water was drenched as well, and Bard thanked him quickly before said man and his friend continued on, presumably in search of dry clothing and warmth. Bilbo thought vaguely that it was pity he didn’t get a chance to thank him as well.

                “Are you alright?” Bard asked as soon as he turned his attention back. “That was not a short fall by any means, even for a Man.”

                The Halfling gave a small shrug, and through chattering teeth, said, “As alright as one c-can be, I suppose.”  

                Bard observed him for a moment, before setting a hand on the smaller’s shoulder. “You gave me a way to bargain for what my people need, at the risk of your own life. That debt is not easily repaid, my friend.”

                Bilbo’s voice came out low and solemn, as he said, “To be honest, I didn’t think I _was_ risking my life.”

                A gloomy silence followed his words, before Bard’s hand slid from the frigid Hobbit. The King of Laketown nodded once, sympathetically, and then directed his attention to the two men on either side. “I want you to find him dry clothes, warm food, and a safe place to rest. He has earned nothing less from us.”

                When Bilbo followed the two men away, towards Dale, he briefly thought about looking back to the gates of Erebor. As soon as it crossed his mind, however, he found the very idea made his chest ache. To see that monster standing there in the guise of his friend would only have hurt him more, would only have driven the knife deeper.

                The Hobbit had stupidly unfurled his heart somewhere along the road, and now he was paying the price for foolishness. He should have known that blossoming feelings had no place on a quest like this. He should have held onto his heart better, instead of handing it over to a dwarf king who could not care less. He didn’t dare to hope that Thorin had once felt the same, for it hardly mattered anymore. Whatever affections may have existed towards the Halfling were long gone now, eaten up by a sickness that he did not know how to defeat.

                So, with these thoughts in mind, Bilbo kept his eyes on the path in front of him and did not look back.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever gone head-first into freezing water? Because I have. It sucks. 0/10 would not recommend 
> 
> The ending of this was hard to get right for some reason. Possibly because I'm sleep deprived, but we may never know.


	4. Alliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bargain is struck.

                It was clear to those on the ground that the decision to toss Bilbo Baggins had not been unanimous. From the yelling that echoed on top of the ramparts, after their supposed betrayer had fallen, obviously the other dwarves did not agree with their king’s choice.

                Bard had watched the proceedings beside the elf king, shocked. “He would condemn one of his own to death over this? Because of a stone?” he questioned, more to himself than to anyone.

                He was getting ready to join his men in helping the Hobbit from the moat, when Thranduil replied coldly, “The Arkenstone is what he believes will grant him kingship. Dwarves already boast an insatiable lust for riches, and the sickness of his line has shown itself once more. We could expect no other result.”

                The elf king’s eyes had not left the gates of Erebor, where the company of dwarves had gathered, looking elated at the sight of their friend. Thorin was not among them, and Bard realized he missed the departure of said dwarf. They still had unfinished business to deal with, preferably sooner than later, lest his people not survive the winter. Dale was hardly in any condition to shield them against the arriving cold, and they not only needed a way to buy provisions, but they needed temporary shelter inside the mountain. It was beyond large enough to house everyone, even if only for a season. He would do everything he could to ensure some kind of deal was struck so that it would not come to bloodshed, from either men, elves, or dwarves.

                For the moment though, Bard left his horse behind to meet up with the small Hobbit, who had almost been murdered for his brave actions. This was still baffling to him, for when the group had stayed in Laketown, their King had acted more than protective of their smallest member. It seemed like every time he had turned around, the dwarf was hovering close to Bilbo in some form or fashion, making sure no harm came to the Hobbit. Bard was many things, but he was not blind. They were always near each other, or looking in the other’s direction. They had been close.

                The evidence was written all over Bilbo as he approached; the resigned slump of his shoulders under the over-sized coat, along with the miserable expression on his face, made for a sad picture indeed. He was shaking from the cold, and would likely get sick from this event, so Bard tried to make their exchange short. The two men accompanying the Halfling were trustworthy, he knew, so he gave them their instructions and let them be off. It wouldn’t do to make Bilbo stay here any longer than he had to.

                Besides all that, the leader of Laketown still had some dwarves to speak with.

-[]-[]-[]-

                Fili stared at the crown that had been abandoned, wondering what in Mahal’s name they were going to do. His brother and the rest of the Company had been gone for some time now, in their search, and worry was beginning to crawl up his spine. Erebor’s halls were vast, and nobody knew them better than Thorin. If he didn’t want to be found, then he wouldn’t be.

                “If we keep those two waiting any longer, they may come in whether we wish it or not,” Balin said eventually, directing his attention to where Bard and Thranduil were having some kind of discussion. Bilbo had disappeared from sight long ago, probably over halfway to Dale by now.

                “We have to give the others more time,” Fili stated once more, unwillingly to have this weight upon his shoulders just yet.  

                The older dwarf gave a sigh, turning to the prince. “I don’t believe we have much time left, lad. They will want to speak with someone soon, whether it’s Thorin or not.”

                “Then let us stall them, speak to them until Thorin is found and a treaty can be made,” the blonde suggested quickly.

                No sooner had the words left his mouth, however, than a loud _CA-KAW_ interrupted their conversation. A massive, black raven swooped to land on the short wall of the ramparts, and they knew what this message meant. The two stared at it momentarily, before a low rumble could be heard in the distance. The raven took flight once more as Fili and Balin moved hurriedly to the wall, to look at the great hill over which a dwarven army now marched. The army of the Iron Hills had arrived, just as Thorin had asked for in his gold-sickened state. Dain Ironfoot was leading, of course, shouting his displeasure about elves for all to hear, looking much too eager for a battle to start.

                Simultaneously, one more person arrived, down the middle of the elven troops, though on horseback instead of on a boar. He only brought his steed to a halt when he came to the front of Erebor’s gates, where the elf king and the leader of Laketown were still positioned. Fili recognized the wizard in an instant, and couldn’t tell if he was glad to see him, or if it was yet another disaster waiting to happen.

                “What in the Valar’s name is going on?” Gandalf demanded, seemingly to everyone in general. He looked up at the two dwarves, with obvious disapproval of the entire situation.

                It _was_ quite the mess, Fili realized. Balin looked like he was thinking much the same.

                “I will go speak with Dain, see if he can be calmed down before he starts a war all on his own,” Balin assured him, glancing over to where the afore mentioned dwarf was still trying to instigate something on his boar, swinging his hammer in the air. “Now that Gandalf is here, I will need you to inform him of what has happened as well.”

                “Of… _everything_ that has happened?” Fili questioned. The wizard would likely turn his uncle into a toad if he found out what had been done to the Hobbit. Though at least that would mean Thorin would be found, if only for the purpose of being cursed.

                “Yes, lad. Everything,” Balin said, heading towards the rope that their burglar had tied to a pillar for exits.

                Fili followed, as they descended the wall, though he wished they could have waited for Kili and the others to return. They reached the bottom and crossed the moat using the enormous broken statue islands as stepping stones, wondering how Bilbo had been so lucky to not hit one. The prince shuddered at what could have been laying before them at that moment.

                Balin departed from Fili to swiftly make his way around the mass of elven soldiers, who eyed him warily. The younger dwarf moved to where Gandalf had stopped, not looking forward to this conversation, much less with the present company. Beside the wizard was the impatient looking Thranduil on a large elk, and Bard with his perpetually worried face.

                Gandalf look displeased to say the least, but there was also something else in his expression that set Fili on edge. An ominous cloud seemed to hover over the anxious Istari, and it was soon revealed why.

                “I am _beyond_ angry to hear that my burglar was _thrown from the gates_ ,” he cautioned with a scowl, but then turned to address Bard and Thranduil as well. “However, there are much more urgent matters to attend to. As we speak, Azog is preparing to march on the mountain with an army of orcs, and I fear it may already be too late to better prepare ourselves.”

                Fili felt his heart thud wildly in his chest, as he glanced up at Erebor’s entrance. The Company was still deep inside, searching for their king, and had no idea that this place would soon have an orc infestation. If the enemy was to slip past into the mountain, and catch the group unawares…

                Bard had just sent a messenger on horseback to Dale, to warn the townspeople of the upcoming threat, when the young prince stepped forward.

                “We must make an alliance then,” he announced firmly, surprising the other three, as well as himself. “My uncle was plagued by gold sickness when he broke his word. Thorin is many things, but dishonorable is not one of them, and I believe more than anything that he will keep his promise to Esgaroth, once he is found.”

                Thranduil’s elk angled itself more toward Bard, and the king simply said in a bored tone, “The word of a dwarf does not carry weight.”

                Bard gave him a tired look. “Rejection of an alliance at this time would be the action of a fool.”  

                It seemed that Thranduil would not be swayed, and he continued his argument. “Inside that mountain are gems that rightfully belong to me, and a promise was broken in that age as well. I have no doubt that more deception will follow if you trust their kind.”

                “If an orc army is on the horizon, I will do what it takes to ensure that my people have a chance. If three armies were to fight as one, we could find ourselves the victors. What use would I have for aid in the coming winter – _from either of your kind_ – if my people are slaughtered before it even arrives?”

                For a long moment, a tense silence followed. Thranduil studied the man clinically, appearing to actually give the words some thought, though one could not be entirely sure with that calm mask he wore.

                Gandalf chose that moment to speak up as well. “If these forces take Dale and Erebor, then I know the woodland realm will not be far behind.  Eradicate this threat now, before it is too late to save your home.”

                It was quiet again, and everyone feared stubbornness would trump reason, as it seemed to so often do. Instead, Thranduil fixed his sharp blue eyes on the young dwarf.  

                “I will agree to an alliance,” the elf king declared, adding a heavy, “ _if_ the gems of Lasgalen are returned to me when this has finished. If they are not, and only more deceit comes from your kind, then punishment will be swift.”

                Balin had only just returned, and had taken a place next to the wizard. The older dwarf said nothing, eyebrows coming together in a worried way that made the prince fidget. Whether his kin would be furious or not was irrelevant, if it meant that the elves would provide aid in the coming battle. Even if it was not his place to make this bargain, if lives were spared because of it, then how could it be the wrong choice?

                The dwarf met Thranduil’s gaze. “You have my promise, and I assure you, it will not be broken.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Fili, baby. Hon. 
> 
> Wow, so this got way out of hand? I was just meaning for a bit of Bard pov, and a bit of Fili, and then suddenly the gems of Lasgalen are involved and I was just like, "no wait stop, guys, Thorin is gonna blow a gasket whether he's got the madness or not" and so yeah... 
> 
> A bit more plot than planned, but eh.


	5. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Dwarf alone with his conscience.

 

 

                Thorin was unsure of how long he wandered those broken halls. The cracks in the stone seemed to echo his own mind, fractured by the dragon’s time in the mountain, just as he himself had been warped by a similar beast. Though his thoughts were no longer held captive by gold or the Arkenstone, images of a different treasure flitted behind the king’s eyelids without mercy.

                Every single time that round face had looked to him. Every smile, every frown, every look of confusion and awe, every time those cheeks had painted themselves with a blush –  it was all flowing through his mind, guiding a needle of guilt to sew a pattern on his soul. All that Bilbo Baggins had ever done was help, right from the beginning. Thorin had been stubborn in his prejudice, refusing to admit the need for help outside of his own kind when they started this quest. He knew for sure that the soft creature would find himself killed before they reached the Misty Mountains, and as such, he refused to accept the fourteenth member. Becoming attached to such a fragile, essentially defenseless _being_ would only end in heartache for his company. The others formed strong friendships with the Hobbit regardless, enjoying their time with him on the road. Bofur was gone straight from the get-go, along with his brothers. Thorin’s nephews didn’t stand a chance, or the young scribe, Ori. Bilbo made a place for himself amongst them before they even realized it, stealing their hearts like the burglar they hired him to be.

                Thorin recognized the attachment that he had been rejecting, only to have the Hobbit nearly get himself killed moments later, surrounded by wargs and fire. At that point – previously almost having lost him to trolls, slippery mountains, and Goblin Town – the king was familiar with the fear that their smallest member would die. After his revelation however, watching Bilbo tackle an orc in his defense brought on an entirely new panic. When Thorin’s vision had been engulfed by darkness, he had known for sure that once he woke up – _if_ he woke up – that their burglar would be no more. To find him alive and well was a gift from above, and the king made a silent vow not to waste that second chance. Now though… A third chance would not be had.

                Even one as sturdy as a dwarf would be hard pressed to survive that fall. The ground before Erebor’s gates was solid stone, only made worse by the wreckage of the dragon. The boulders, the rubble… No. His Hobbit was dead. Gone. There would be no more embraces or warm smiles. There would be no more fussing over dwarven manners or soft words by the campfire. Thorin would never find out what it was like to run a hand through those curls or wake up with his face buried in them. He would never hear that laugh, he would never… never…

                The corridor was dark, only the faintest flickering of torchlight reaching the far end. Thorin found himself leaning heavily against the stone as fresh tears made themselves known. He slid down into a heap, unwilling to move another step into the home he had wanted so badly to reclaim, settling with his back propped by the wall. His head dropped into his hands, shame blooming anew. Thorin had failed his family – his father, his grandfather, his brother – but most of all he had failed his sister and her dearest sons. How many times had he told the boys of the sickness that took Thror? How many times had he sworn to them that it would never happen again, that he would not follow in those footsteps? That they would not witness one they trusted lose themselves to greed?

                He had broken every promise he ever made to them of the gold sickness. On top of this foul betrayal of their confidence, Thorin had murdered their friend right in front of them. Fili and Kili were two of the first to connect with the Hobbit, their friendly natures allowing him in so easily, so quickly, and it was all the more painful for that.

                In his anguish, the king felt as though a century had passed since he fled the ramparts, leaving the disgraced crown where it landed. His eyes stung and his chest ached with an intensity he hadn’t felt since Azanulbizar. Mind clouded with thoughts of his family and Bilbo Baggins, Thorin could not be sure if his name actually did echo somewhere in the mountain, or if it was simply him losing his mind all over again. When it echoed louder, closer, he recognized the familiar voice of Kili. He made no move to make his presence known or to find the young dwarf, but he did not run deeper into the mountain. The thought of facing his nephews at this moment created another onslaught of guilt, but if they found him, he would not flee this time. He deserved every ounce of their anger and harsh words. To run again would be cowardly.

                It did not come to that though, for when Kili’s voice sounded for a third time, it was much further away and much quieter. Thorin did not get up to follow, but even if he had, his nephew’s voice echoed off the rock in such a way that made the direction unclear.

                Time seemed to crawl by after that. The king hung his head in his hands, ignoring the chill creeping into his bones from the walls of rock. He began to realize that he could not hide from his Company forever, even if starving to death in an abandoned tunnel seemed like a much prettier option than facing his kin. Their confrontation would only confirm what he already knew: that Bilbo’s lifeless body had been found on the rocks, broken from a fall that should never have happened. It would cement the Hobbit’s death as fact, and there would be no escaping it.

                As Thorin stood, numbly making his way from the corridor, a rumble that seemed to resonate from the Earth itself made the ground shudder beneath his feet. He froze, wondering what was big enough to make the mountain quiver as such, aside from Smaug who lay dead in a lake. Outside, a horn barely permeated Erebor’s walls. He knew it was not of Dwarvish origin, and he even knew that it was not Elvish or of Men.

                Ice formed in his blood as he sprinted back the way he had come. Though he had previously wandered without thought or care, not paying attention to his path, Thorin knew these halls like the back of his hand. He knew the quickest routes that lead to undamaged stairs, and climbed them with haste. When he found himself back in the main entrance hall, looking upon the wall where he had left his Company, there was no dwarf in sight. He looked to their small, makeshift campsite some distance from Erebor’s entrance, and his heart beat wildly when he realized that all their weapons were gone.

                That horn sounded again, loud and menacing, followed by more rumbling of the ground. He recognized it as footsteps, many, _many_ footsteps. The sound of an army.

                Thorin raced up the staircase to the ramparts, ignoring the crown at his feet when he reached the top. His friends and kin were nowhere to be found. Then he saw the battlefield that lay before the Lonely Mountain, and a new fear clenched his heart. A bloody mess of dwarves, elves, and men were clashing with orcs, and suddenly the king knew exactly where his Company had gone to.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, the sweet taste of angst. 
> 
> Hope you are all still enjoying this, friends! :D


	6. Dale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Familiar faces from Laketown find Bilbo.

 

 

                “You’re the Hobbit that came to our house with those dwarves, aren’t you?”

                Bilbo looked up from the bowl of stew in his lap to see a young girl, who he recognized as Bard’s youngest daughter. Her hands were stuffed in her coat pockets against the cold, though she didn’t seem too perturbed by it, instead focusing on him with curious eyes. It took him a second to remember her name was Tilda.

                He nodded shortly, and cleared his throat – though his voice still came out hoarse. “Yes. Yes, that was me.”

                The girl gave a smile. “You’re the first one I’ve ever met, you know. We always hear stories, but it’s not the same. Da said your name was Bilbo?”

                Another nod. He tried to put up a polite smile for the girl, but it probably looked more like he stepped on a splinter. “Yes. Bilbo Baggins, at your service.”

                “My name is Tilda,” she continued. Bilbo didn’t bother informing her that he knew from overhearing conversations, and simply shook the proffered hand.

                The courtyard-like area that Bard’s companions had delivered him to was busy with women and children. The two men had indeed found him dry clothing, a blanket, and food before leaving to take care of other duties. He had found a stone bench of sorts to sit on while he ate, blanket draped over his shoulders, and that’s how he was when Tilda found him. A fire had been coaxed into life nearby, contained in a small circle of stones like many others in the square, and he allowed his previous garments to hang next to it for drying. His temporary attire was much the same as the other had been, though he preferred the blue coat over the caramel one he now had. Not that it mattered. Warm clothing was warm clothing, and he really had no wish to remain in the drenched ones.

                “Tilda!” The girl’s sister came from around a crumbling wall, obviously worried. When she reached them, she put a tense hand on her sibling’s shoulder. “Don’t wander off without me like that! It’s not safe!”

                “I was just talking to Mister Bilbo, Sigrid,” the child explained, turning back to him. “Remember? He’s the Hobbit that visited us.”

                Sigrid paused, standing behind her sister. Both of her hands were on Tilda’s shoulders protectively, but she seemed to relax more now that she had the girl with her, and recognized who she was speaking with. “Oh! Yes, Mister Bilbo,” she recalled. “I wasn’t aware that your company had made it back from the mountain. Did my father and Thranduil make a bargain with your king, then?”

                Bilbo gave a wry smile at _‘your king’_. “The Company has not come to Dale, I’m afraid. It is just me. No bargains have been made either, and I don’t see it happening in the near future. Th… The King Under the Mountain refuses to see reason.”

                Like her father, Sigrid seemed to always carry an anxious expression, which only increased after he said this. An edge of anger simmered in her eyes as well, though. “You mean he will not help us? Even when it was his disruption of Smaug’s slumber that caused our town to burn in the first place?”

                “Truly, I am sorry,” he said quietly, meeting her gaze. This conversation was doing nothing for the pain in his chest. “If I could take back what we have done, I would. In a heartbeat. We did not mean for this to happen.”

                She had every right to her resentment, Bilbo understood. These people had helped them, sheltered them, and gave them provisions for their final trek. All Laketown received in return was charred homes and bodies.

                “Why are you here and not they as well?” Sigrid questioned. “Why are they not here making amends?”

                The rapid clopping of hooves made the three turn their heads to the cobblestone road that lead past the courtyard area. A large horse made its way towards them, the sight of the grey-clad rider making Bilbo feel more relieved than he had in a while.

                “Why indeed?” Gandalf asked as he stopped his horse a few feet away. Sigrid and Tilda backed up as he dismounted and took a few steps towards Bilbo, seeming less than keen on getting to close to this stranger. He paid them no mind, tone serious. “You are here alone and I would like an explanation as to why.” Between the lines read easily enough; _what has Thorin done this time?_

                The relief the Hobbit had felt was short lived. He frowned into his bowl of hardly eaten stew, pushing back thoughts of freefalls and icy water. He muttered, “I’d rather not talk about it, if it’s all the same to you.”

                Gandalf gave a huff, impatient, noticeably concerned about something else entirely. “I do not have time for moping and self-pity, Bilbo Baggins. Now, what has happened, and where are Thorin, Bard, and Thranduil? I must speak to them as soon as possible, preferably this instant.”

                “They’re likely still in front of Erebor, trying to wage war. If one hasn’t started already, that is,” the Hobbit speculated blandly.

                The wizard went silent, and Bilbo looked up from his bowl, only to find himself being inspected by narrowed eyes. Gandalf let his face relax as if he had just noticed something, and asked in a much more gentle tone, “What has happened, my boy?”

                Bilbo’s throat closed up at the concern in the other’s voice, and the worry for his well-being. He took a deep breath through his nose, and yet still could not find his words. How do you go about telling one of almost dying at the hands of your closest companion?

                There was a shuffle of feet as Tilda stepped forward, her sister still holding one of her shoulders, uncertain. The smaller girl chimed in, “I heard the men that brought him from the mountain tell Miss Suzette what happened. He said they saw the dwarf king throw Mister Bilbo out of the mountain, off the stone wall. Said he landed in the moat, and that’s why he came back all wet.”

                Bilbo refused to look away from a particularly interesting string he was fiddling with, attached to the blanket around his shoulders. He had set his bowl down on the bench beside him some while ago. In a very un-Hobbit like fashion, his stomach did not seem too eager for food. This probably should have worried him more, but right then he was more concerned about the stare he could feel coming from the wizard.

                “So Thror’s sickness has found Thorin…” Gandalf said, almost to himself.

                Bilbo clenched the blanket in his fists, grateful for Tilda’s quick explanation of the worst of it. He continued on, forcing the words. “As it turns out, the King Under the Mountain did not keep his promise to the people of Laketown, to help them rebuild with a portion of the treasure. They had nothing left, I gave Bard the Arkenstone for a bargaining tool so that we could end all this war nonsense, and it… more or less… all went downhill from there.”

                There was a long silence, and a deep sigh came from the wizard beside them as he mounted his horse again. “I am afraid that war will still be had, regardless of your valiant efforts and what bargains have or have not been struck.”

                The Hobbit finally focused his attention upwards, confused. “What do you mean?”

                “An orc army is approaching Erebor, lead by Azog,” he answered, urgency back in his tone, as Bilbo’s eyes widened. “I must warn Thorin, Bard, and Thranduil of this, and I have dallied here long enough. If they cannot form an alliance, then Dale and Erebor will both be lost. I am glad to see you unharmed, my dear boy, but you must prepare yourselves for an inevitable battle.”

                With that, Gandalf led his horse some way across the courtyard, said a few quick words to a group that seemed to be running things for the time, and then he was off. The sound of hooves faded into the distance as activity in the square picked up, the people having been warned of the orcs as well. Supplies were being gathered from their spots, blankets being rolled up, and fires being doused. One of the women who had been in the group Gandalf spoke with was spreading the word. She appeared to be giving out instructions, and would occasionally point to a nearby road between buildings that people were dashing to. The woman made her way over to them, pausing a few feet away.

                “I don’t know when your father will be back, but til he is, I suggest you girls head for city hall like everyone else,” she said quickly.

                Sigrid let her hand fall from her sister’s shoulder to grab her hand instead. “We have to find our brother first, Miss Harrin. Have you seen him? He came through here not that long ago,” she asked.

                “I haven’t seen ‘im, dearie,” the woman said. “Just go follow the others, and maybe he’ll turn up.”

                Bilbo wasn’t going to get a single moment of rest, it seemed. He stood as the woman left to go warn more Laketown survivors of the coming threat, letting his blanket fall to the bench. As he reached for Sting, he was immensely grateful that the small blade had been secured on his waist before the fall.

                The Hobbit put out the small fire with some well-placed dirt, only to see the girls give him a strange look. He refastened his scabbard to his side, and met their looks with his own.

                “Well, are we going to go find your brother or not?” he offered, not wanting to sit and feel even more useless. He couldn’t very well let Bard’s children go running off with an orc army approaching, regardless, not when the man had assisted him in his time of need. He could help them find Bain, at least.

                “Yes, yes of course!” Sigrid finally replied, evidently relieved that he was coming with them. A third person was better than just the two, even if he was just a Hobbit.

                Tilda gave him a smile, which he returned as best he could, before they left the courtyard. The group followed the flow of people at first, towards the direction of what they guessed was the city hall, as the girl’s asked others if they had seen their brother anywhere. One person mentioned having caught sight of Bain a few buildings down, so they wound their past decrepit walls and over rubble. As it turned out, he was just around the corner, in the process of helping a woman pull a hog along. When the boy saw them, he waved them over, and they quickly joined him.

                Once together, they siblings helped the woman be on her way, passing the hog’s rope to another citizen willing to help, headed in the same direction. Bilbo had a worrisome feeling in his gut as they briskly walked on, and knew it wasn’t long before everyone out in the open would be in danger. His thoughts drifted to his friends in the mountain, as he hoped more than anything for their safety.

                And that’s when they heard the horn and the screams.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was mostly filler because I wanted to try writing Tilda and Sigrid. Though I'm not sure how well that went, considering I was half asleep every time I tried to type this up. Ehhh. 
> 
> I do wish I could have seen Bilbo interact with kids more?? Anyone else besides me?


	7. Search

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin joins the battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to split the chapter in half, because it was getting a bit long!   
> So, this chapter is shorter because it was technically supposed to go with the next part, but don't fret! This only means the next chapter will be out sooner. :)

 

 

                He had armed himself before joining the fray, hacking past orcs with skill and purpose. Somewhere out there, in that mess, Thorin’s family was fighting to keep their newly reclaimed kingdom while he had been in hiding. He may have betrayed their trust, and he may have ended their smallest companion’s life, but he certainly would not let them perish in this battle. No other of his Company would die because of his negligence. He would rather his final moments be defending those he loved, attempting to make up for his cruelty, than to hide away in grief and let his nephews pay the price.

                The ache in the king’s chest never let up, even as he left the battlements and made his way through the sea of raging bodies. However, it didn’t escape his notice when he reached the bottom of the stone wall that there was no blood upon the ground. No signs that a small body had made any sort of impact at all. For a moment, something that felt horribly like hope began tingle in his heart, and he wondered if perhaps Bilbo could have… But no. Those thoughts were crushed down instantly before they had a chance to rise and break him all over again. The Hobbit was gone, and his family needed him now.

                He recognized the dwarven army as being of the Iron Hills, and realized that Dain must have answered his call. Though the request had been made in the throes of Thorin’s madness, out of greed to protect his hoard rather than his kin, he was now immeasurably glad he had called upon his cousin. He was grateful, and fought by Dain’s side for a good long while once he located him, asking if any of his Company had been spotted.

                “Oh, aye. That Dwalin of yours was here not long ago,” the dwarf answered, proceeding to imbed his axe in an orc skull. He yanked it out again, continuing, “Hasn’t lost his touch at all! Still fights like a beast, that one. Had your princes with ‘im, so I wouldn’t worry too much.”

                Thorin felt relief at that. At least Fili and Kili would be well-guarded until he could reach them. Preferably before they did something reckless. He parried a blow from a hissing goblin, and promptly felled the creature. He turned to his cousin momentarily, questioning, “Did you see which way they went?”

                “They seemed to be makin’ for Dale, from what I could tell,” Dain replied, seeming a bit confused. “I suppose these bastards are floodin’ tha city as well though. Lads are probably on their way ta help keep casualties at a minimum. Mahal knows those Men couldn’t fight off a wet blanket, much less a horde of orcs!” He laughed heartily at this, and lobbed off the head of one that had gotten too close.

                Thorin side-stepped to avoid the decapitated head flying towards him, and looked to Dale. He had gotten closer to it during the battle, and could now see a massive hole in the stone wall surrounding the city, and the smoke from fires rearing up in the chaos. No doubt that many Laketown survivors would lose their lives during this invasion, and having only just escaped Smaug’s wrath scant days before at that. Yet another wrong to his name.

                The king thanked his cousin for his aid, grasping the dwarrow’s upper arm in an appreciative gesture, before heading further into the throng.

                As he neared the broken city, it became harder to cut his way through. The upward slope only hampered his progress, as he was already preoccupied with staying alive. It seemed like ages had passed, before Thorin finally reached the main gates, though they were flooded with elves and orcs locked in combat. Citizens could be heard screaming from further inside the city walls, but that was drowned by the sound of the horn going off once more, the horn that he had recognized from within the mountain as being a harbinger of vile things. He dashed further onward, taking down an orc that had been trying to block him, and bounded up some nearby steps on the side of a building. From this vantage point, he searched and found where the call of the horn was emanating from. The large flag-like contraptions, giving orders without words, were enough of an indicator. He had no doubt in his mind who was here, controlling the mass of orcs.  

                Rage bubbled up inside him at the thought of Azog being so close, when his nephews could be anywhere at all. The thought of the pale orc finding Fili and Kili before him sent ice shooting through his veins, and spurred his feet back into action.

                The streets of Dale were utter chaos, but with his mission in mind, he cleared out the orcs in his path – particularly a group that had been terrorizing people still scampering about for safety. At one point he ran across Bard, and there was a tension, until Thorin gave a single nod. The man seemed to understand the motion for what it was, a signal recognizing that Bard had been right all along, and the nod was returned.

                “You have many amends to make, Thorin Oakenshield, both to my people and your friends,” the man stated, then gave a dry smile. “For now though, stay alive long enough to make them.”

                Then he was off again, being the proper leader he was always meant to be and defending his people. Thorin hoped, for his sake, that his children were safe. He was a good man, though the dwarf had been less kind to him than he should have. Bard had helped them when they needed it, as Bilbo had reminded him several times during their last length of days together. Would this day only serve to show him how many he had wronged? His Hobbit had been right, had always been right.

                _I’m so sorry, Bilbo._

 

 

 

 


	8. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Bard's children are on the run.

 

 

                After this was all over and done with, Bilbo Baggins had no wish to ever see an orc again in his life.

                The city of Dale was completely overrun, a jumble of people darting around and elves defending them, orcs screeching and slaughtering what they could. The Hobbit had quickly slashed away at wart-covered menaces that came too close to the children, aided by Bain and his sword that seemed too large for him. His father had obviously taught him a few things though, as he wasn’t nearly as inept as the rest of the young ones running for their lives.

                Most of their sprint through the deadly maze was dumb luck, narrowly avoiding creatures twice their size and only fighting when the situation demanded it. Of course, having to survive on the Company’s quest, Bilbo was fortunately much better with a blade than he had started out being. This didn’t mean he was in a hurry to fight anything that could eat him with one bite, though.

                The Hobbit’s foot twinged with forgotten pain as they were cornered for the umpteenth time. When he faltered, Sigrid stepped in and lashed out with a heavy wooden pole she had picked up, thoroughly knocking the snot out of the orc about to skewer him.

                “Thank you,” he told her, breathing heavily from their running. “That was, ah… quite good.”

                “Think nothing of it, Mister Bilbo,” she panted back.

                Tilda seemed beyond impressed with her sister, still gushing about how Sigrid could be a warrior princess even when they moved to begin their run again. It had barely begun though, when they turned a corner and ran smack into a crowd of at least seven or eight orcs. The nearest one realized they had company, and turned to slice at Bain before they could properly scramble backwards. The boy hardly put up his sword in time to block before he was kicked in the chest, hard, and flew onto his back. Sigrid and Bilbo stepped in front of him quickly, trying to give Bain time to get back on his feet.

                It became devastatingly obvious to Bilbo that they were not going to make it out of this one. Sigrid’s pole was yanked from her when she attempted a blow, and the orc tossed it aside with a disfigured snarl. One orc charged past them, towards Tilda, and when he raced to defend her, another grabbed the back of his coat and pulled him hard enough that he fell backwards. He looked up, eyes widening at the sight of a blade poised above him, and as he cringed, Tilda screamed.

                Suddenly there was a loud yell – three loud yells – and the orc above him disappeared, thrown against a nearby wall. He was yanked up to his feet by none other than Fili, the prince greeting him with a quick smile.

                The Hobbit looked over to see Kili cutting down several orcs, and Dwalin had made quick work of the one who headed for Tilda. The girl ran over to her brother and sister, and they stuck together while the dwarves finished off the others. Fili stepped away from Bilbo to lend the other prince a hand, but then it was over as quickly as it had begun. They were skilled fighters. The orcs hadn’t stood a chance.

                As soon as they had a moment of peace, the Hobbit found himself engulfed by two sets of arms, and the peace was gone.

                “We’re so sorry, Bilbo!” Kili began babbling, nearly smothering him. “We didn’t think he would actually do it! He wasn’t himself, he was so sick – Uncle would never have done that if he had been in his right mind!”

                “We’re so glad to see you! We thought you had died for sure!” Fili added. “We were all so distraught – ”

                “ – but then you survived! And you were here, and we knew orcs were coming, and you could have been hurt from your fall – unable to defend yourself!”

                “We had to come find you, and it appears we got here just in time,” the eldest finished, pulling his arms away. Kili clung for a moment longer before finally backing up, eyes watery.

                The sight warmed Bilbo’s heart, grateful that the Company still cared for him, even if their king did not. “Thank you, boys – and thank you Dwalin,” he said, giving a nod to the other dwarf who was standing protectively near Tilda. The sight was almost amusing, since she was nearly as tall as him.

                “We couldn’t very well let ya get yourself killed, not after findin’ out ya survived,” the warrior responded.

                Bilbo let a tiny smile out at that, before giving a quick look around. “Where are the others?”

                “The Company tried to stay together, but it was too difficult out there,” Fili answered. “The others told us to run ahead and find you, since it was faster.”

                For a moment, Bilbo hesitated to ask, but finally cleared his throat. “Is Thorin here as well…?”

                The princes glanced at one another, turning solemn. Kili faced him, saying, “We don’t know. He ran into the mountain after your… disagreement – ”

                “It was a bit more than a disagreement,” the Hobbit said grimly, and Kili winced.

                Fili looked as though he wanted to roll his eyes at his brother, but didn’t. He continued instead, sighing, “The Company looked for him, but then the battle began and we had to call it off. So really, he could be anywhere by now.”

                Bilbo’s stomach churned at that. Thorin, anywhere out here? Of course he was worried for the dwarf’s safety, but a different type of alarm was coursing through him as well. What if the king ran into him, and attempted to finish what he started?

                Kili seemed to recognize the fear permeating his expression. The dwarf started shaking his head and put his hands up, shaking them back and forth as well, quickly saying, “No, no, you don’t understand, Bilbo! It’s alright! Thorin isn’t – ”

                A deafening roar sounded right next to them, drowning Kili’s words. The wall of the building beside them crumbled, almost crushing them beneath it, and they had to split up in order to survive the destruction raining down. Bilbo scrambled backwards at the same time that Fili and Kili did, as blocks fell between them and the other four. A massive leg followed through the hole in the wall, and soon an entire troll had maneuvered out into their street, growling and hunting for its next target.

                It spotted Bard’s children in the corner, with Dwalin positioned in front of them, axes at the ready despite his disadvantage of size. The monster wasted no time, snarling and turned to charge them, and Tilda shrieked.

                At that moment, Bilbo spotted a metal shield that had been abandoned on the ground. He didn’t pick it up for it was much too large for him, but instead rushed over and clashed Sting against the surface loudly. The steel _CLANGGG_ resounded, and the troll snapped around to locate whatever made the sound.

                “What are you doing?!” Kili asked, eyes wide.

                Bilbo glared at him once, before hitting the shield again, and snapping, “What does it look like I’m doing?!”

                By that point, Fili had caught on with an, “Oh! Oh, yes!” and began yelling at the troll, “Oi, you! Yes, you with the warts! Come over here and take a bite of dwarf! We taste much better than bony kids!”

                Kili stared at his brother in horror. By the time it finally clicked for him as well, they had thoroughly gotten the great brute’s attention, and it began stampeding towards them.

                Bilbo had the presence of mind to shout back to Dwalin, “Get them to the city hall!” before the three dashed away, over rubble and bodies, leading the troll as far away from the children as possible. It was up to the dwarven warrior to get Bard’s young ones to safety now, and the Hobbit tried to focus instead on not tripping or getting snatched up by the massive hands that kept making a grab for him. This was doubly difficult, for while they wound through the streets, they had to dodge orcs and avoid the paths that had pedestrians. The two boys were faster, as Bilbo’s legs were shorter and his foot ached something fierce, but he kept on.

                His efforts came crashing down, quite literally, when he slid to avoid a falling support beam that the troll collided with. The beam fell in his path and he twisted, his foot catching on the ground, and he toppled. On his back, he barely had time to roll when he saw the hand rushing towards him. It smashed the ground where Bilbo had previously been, and he scrambled to get to his feet. As he did, it gave the creature time to swing for another grab, and this one didn’t miss.

                Fili and Kili yelled his name at once, and charged forward to help, but the Hobbit was already lifted into the air, much higher than he appreciated. The grip around his ribs was uncomfortably tight, and it only became worse when the dwarf princes began their attack. He was slung around as the troll roared and kicked out, only narrowly avoiding Fili’s head. Bilbo thanked his stars that he managed to hang on to his sword, and waited for right moment to strike, preferably when the beast’s hand was closer to the ground.

                There was a lull in the jarring movement. Bilbo raised Sting and plunged it down into the hand that held him captive. Instead of dropping him, as the Hobbit had prepared for, the troll bellowed and reflexively threw his arm up into the air, releasing his grip at the worst moment possible.

                Bilbo cried out as he went flying upwards and over and – “Uff!”

                He landed on his back with a thud, though not on the street this time, and Sting clattered down beside him several feet away. That loud horn sounded off somewhere again, and Bilbo’s face scrunched up. Dazedly, he sat up and looked around, seeing rooftops and windows of a few taller buildings. He finally realized that he was on a rooftop himself, and stood quickly to look over the edge of the building he was on top of. On the street, two floors down, Fili and Kili waved up at him. The troll had a particularly gruesome looking cut across its throat, and he only wondered how on earth the boys had managed to get that high. 

                “Are you alright?” Fili called up to him.

                “Yes, yes I’m fine!” he replied, glancing around him for a way down. “Can you boys see a way to – to…”

                He trailed off, as he spotted a familiar form a few streets down, standing atop some stairs attached to a building. Thorin was far away, and seemed to be surveying something in the distance, but Bilbo felt his heartbeat pick up all the same. He couldn’t be sure if it was fear of being seen, or gladness that the dwarf was unharmed. Bilbo had to tear his gaze away in order to see what the king was looking at. The hilltop that the king’s eyes had been locked onto was shrouded in a heavy fog, though what looked like signal markers of some kind were still visible. The Hobbit then understood why Thorin had been staring at it, knowing at once that it must belong to the orc army. It was completely possible that the pale orc himself was there.

                When Bilbo looked back to the steps and saw them empty, a panic erupted inside him. Thorin would go looking for Azog. He would try to fight him and if he failed again, there would be no one to intervene. No Hobbit to jump in at the last second and save his idiotic neck.

                Fili and Kili must have followed his eyes and seen their uncle, for when he looked back down to them, they appeared just as surprised as he did.

                “Do you see a way to get down, Bilbo?” the youngest questioned with a yell.

                “I – I’ll find one, just – go on ahead! I’ll catch up with you, go!” he replied, flailing his hands in that direction. The two boys seemed torn between staying until he got down, and going after their uncle, who was only getting farther and farther away. He shouted, “Go!” once more, before they finally nodded with concern on their faces, and sprinted off.

                Bilbo let himself sag against the short wall for a moment, overwhelmed, trying to get a handle on the situation. This breather was fleeting though, as his face became resolute and he stood, snatching up Sting. His resolve immediately wavered a bit when he realized there were no ladders down, or trap doors into the building itself. He glanced around until his eyes rested on the roof next to him, and sighed heavily as he recognized his only option. The building next to his had a decrepit lattice he could use as a ladder, but first he had to jump to its roof. When he glanced down at how long the fall would be if he failed, a small whine escaped him. He really didn’t want to do anymore falling today, thank you, but it seemed like he had no choice except to risk it.

                The Hobbit knew he would get to the hilltop with greater speed if there were no altercations with orcs along the way and he had a perfect way to avoid them. This thought crossed his mind, and he dipped his hand into his coat pocket, pulling out the gold ring. There would be no battles along the way if he was invisible, and invisible he would be until Thorin was found.

                The dwarf king had cast him out, tried to end his life, and broke his heart in one fell swoop. As much as this hurt, as much he wanted to hate him, he could not. Bilbo knew that his Thorin was long gone. The king would most likely execute the Hobbit all over again for trying to help, but he could not stand idly by and let the one he had loved – the one he wanted so badly to give his heart to – be killed.

                Purpose in mind, he sheathed his blade to free up his hands for the leap, and slipped the ring on. He backed up as the world turned gray, slithering around him in waves. From the opposite side of the rooftop, he took a deep breath, got a running start, and jumped.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting closer to a reunion, whether they're prepared for it or not. ;) 
> 
> My work schedule this week is insane, so I don't know when I'll be able to type up the next bit, but I'll try not to keep you guys waiting too long! :c


	9. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble doesn't find Thorin. He finds it himself.

 

 

                He had every intention of scouting out Ravenhill, locating the pale orc, and returning with backup – or so he told himself. If he could have found any of his Company, he would have preferred to have them among that backup, but even Dain’s men would have sufficed. If it meant ridding the land of Azog’s presence, then it would be done.

                This plan was never put into action, though, for Thorin underestimated his own emotions. He reached the edge of the city’s walls, being sure that he wasn’t spotted crossing the rocky trail to Ravenhill. This particular path lead to a weathered staircase cut into the mountainside, which had been used to reach the hill’s towers in the days when Dale still thrived. He kept an eye on said towers, watching for activity, and yet it remained eerily desolate, the only sounds coming from the battle below. The horn had not sounded again since he heard it from Dale’s streets, and this lack of activity put him on edge. He arrived at the top of the staircase, where the ground flattened out and held the ruins of Ravenhill’s structures, and kept his footsteps quiet. The broken stone walls provided cover enough for him to move throughout the landscape with relative ease, though with every brush of snow against his boots, his paranoia wound tighter.

                When Thorin reached a relatively well hidden spot behind a deteriorating wall, he dared to edge out around the side to locate the signal markers of the enemy. Past a river that had frozen over, and a broken bridge, the remnants of another tower were shrouded. A thick fog was rolling in, covering the peak of the structure, but the dwarf could still see faint outlines of the flags. No orcs, however, and Thorin knew he was missing something. Had they travelled down the mountainside to join the battle? Azog would no doubt be itching to get out there and murder more of the dwarf’s loved ones, and the thought made his blood run cold, but it did not make sense. Would he not leave someone to continue signaling battle directions? Or even stay himself?

                All thoughts came to a halt when the fog began to move. Slowly, on the opposite side of the broken bridge, an all too familiar figure emerged, skin colorless as the snow on the ground. Azog, armored and menacing, stepped forward enough for their eyes to meet in equally scorching glares… and then abruptly turned away, as though the dwarf’s arrival was of no concern. The fog upon the hill obstructed Thorin’s vision, though not before he saw the orc begin up a carved flight of stairs. Rationality was lost as the dwarf king felt anger boil beneath his skin, the monster’s cowardice triggering a mental block of emotion. He would not let this menace terrorize his family any longer, and letting him get away alive was not an option.

                Thorin’s grip on his sword was harsh enough to turn his knuckles white, and he sprinted after the retreating orc, down across the frozen river, and back up again onto land. The mist was cold against his face as he ascended the stone steps, passing the area where Azog last stood. He followed the trail of footprints in the snow up into another area on the opposite side of the peak, behind the vestiges of the tower. The pale orc’s marks were suddenly lost in a sea of many, many other footprints, and Thorin realized his mistake too late.

 

-[]-[]-[]-

 

                Kili always assumed he would die for a noble cause, as any dwarf hoped to. He expected to go out in battle, fighting until he could no longer draw breath. He was half right, at any rate. About the battle part. However, he didn’t expect the noble cause to be saving his stubborn, idiotic uncle from certain death by orc ambush.

                The princes were incredibly glad they had not waited on Bilbo, or they would have been too late, without a doubt. While they were still down in Dale, they had caught a glimpse of the dwarf far away on the mountainside, though lost track of him when they got tangled up with a goblin hoard. By the time they had dispatched their enemies, their uncle was nowhere to be found. Once they reached the top of Ravenhill, they were lucky enough to find a trail, or they would have had no chance of finding him. Thorin’s footprints in the snow were easily recognizable to the two brothers as they made their way through the ruins quickly, stealth hardly their concern at that point. They reached the river that had iced over, and crossed when the tracks stopped at the edge. Though slick, they maintained their balance, and soon they were back to following the path. When another, larger set of prints showed upon the snow, Kili shared a look of worry with his brother. Instantly, they began taking lighter steps, attempting silence in the crunching snow.

                They rounded a corner to see Thorin locked in combat with several orcs at the edge of a rather precarious drop. Several of the creatures had been slain further away, their bodies closer to the stone tower and to the princes. The dwarf had clearly been cornered just before they arrived, and required help before his enemies backed him straight off the edge.

                Kili quickly notched an arrow and let it fly, striking the orc closest to Thorin. It fell dead with a screech, and the dwarf king looked up, startled. Blood from a cut on his forehead was dripping down the side of his face, and for a split second he looked almost glad to see them. That expression shifted to horror as he stared in their direction, though not _at_ them.

                Behind them. 

                Fili and Kili whipped around to look, just as their uncle screamed their names.

                A blur of white was all Kili saw before searing pain ripped across his chest, and his bow snapped in front of him, sliced in two. The force of the strike tossed him to the ground, the sound of steel clashing against steel reaching his ears. He hissed in pain as he tried to roll, taking the pressure from the wound on his front, and settling with a grimace onto his back. The snow where he had landed was red, and more blood stained his shirt front. The world was a haze as he looked up, and saw his brother struggle against none other than Azog the Defiler.

                Though Fili tried, and did very well given the surprise attack, it was a lost battle from the start. His brother was outmatched in not only strength, but experience, and soon Azog landed a blow with his bladed arm across Fili’s leg. He gave a cry of pain as the limb buckled from underneath him, barely throwing up his sword in time for the orc’s weapon to glance off of it instead of going through his shoulder. The strength of the assault knocked his blade from his grip as he fell to his knees. The orc landed a swift, sickening kick to Fili’s head, causing him to fall limp across the snow. Kili tried to grab his sword with a bloody, slippery hand, to help his brother, _no, no, Fili please, no –_

Azog stalked closer to the blonde and snarled something in black speech to their uncle. The king had only just finished off the last orc in his path. The words seemed distant as Kili’s vision narrowed to where Fili had landed, unconscious, about to be slain. The pale orc lifted his blade. Thorin was running towards them, but he was still so far away.

                Agony shot through Kili’s chest when he moved, shoving his legs underneath himself just long enough to propel forward. He landed on his side at Azog’s feet and with the last of his strength, thrust his sword at the orc’s leg, managing to slice one of his calves. It wasn’t graceful, and it wasn’t pretty, but it was enough. Azog did not end Fili’s life, ceasing his blade’s descent long enough to let out a roar of pain, and long enough for Thorin to arrive.

                Kili fell to unconsciousness, hoping beyond hope that their uncle would be strong enough.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. We've got a showdown ahead of us, and an angry Hobbit on the loose, not to mention some dwarves that may or may not be bleeding out. 
> 
> Stay tuned and all that jazz!


	10. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo makes it to Ravenhill.

 

 

               With the assistance of the golden ring, Bilbo made it through the chaos of Dale with relative speed, though he was still not fast enough. When he finally reached the top of the mountain and removed the ring, he spotted the boys laying on the snow, unmoving, and feared the worst. He was at their sides in an instant, terror closing his throat, making it hard to concentrate. There was so much blood around Kili, and he was so pale. Bilbo put his ear close to the dwarf’s face and nearly collapsed with relief at the sound of breath. It was shallow and strained, but he was breathing. The Hobbit looked over to Fili next, who – though unconscious – was in much better shape than his sibling. There was a large gash across his thigh and a welt coming up on his forehead, but his coloring was good and his chest visibly rose and fell with ease. It was Kili who was in immediate danger.

                Bilbo knew he could not carry the dwarf. He was not strong enough, and even if he was, he could not just leave Fili here unguarded. He surveyed the area briefly, looking for anything that could help, but only finding orc bodies and bloody snow. Thorin was nowhere to be found, and Bilbo was only glad that there was not a third dwarf laying here dying as well, though he still feared for him wherever he was.

                The Hobbit shrugged off his coat for a moment to pull off his shirt for a makeshift bandage, putting the coat on over the Mithril shirt instead. There was nothing else even remotely clean in the area, so his button-down top would have to do. He was not a healer, and he did not know what he was doing, but Kili was growing paler with each passing moment. Oh Eru, what would he not do for a miracle? The shirt was soaked in mere moments, no matter how much pressure he put on the wound. The prince was not going to survive this, Bilbo knew, but refused to accept.

                Tears prickled at his eyes as he whispered furiously, “No, you are not allowed to die, you stop this right now…” and in his panic, he almost missed the sound of approaching footsteps.

                He drew Sting and whirled, instantly on his feet in front of the boys, daring any orc or goblin to just try and take them. Instead of finding a foe, however, he met the startled eyes of an elf woman. Her long red hair was mussed in places from battle, and a large scrape ran down the side of her pale brow, but she was familiar. Bilbo recognized her vaguely from his time in Thranduil’s halls, when he had been sneaking about, trying to find a way to smuggle out the Company. He remembered seeing her briefly at the water gates as well. When Kili had been struck by an arrow, she was the one who stopped the orc attack on the young dwarf – and unless he was mistaken – this was the same elf who healed him. After the destruction of Laketown, when Oin, Bofur, and the two princes joined them in the mountain, Bilbo had asked of Kili’s recovery. Oin spoke only of the elf maiden’s healing abilities, and went on a tangent about herbal properties, but Kili spoke of her like one would a goddess. Tauriel was her name, if he remembered correctly. Of course, this was all hushed when the King Under the Mountain came around. There had not been much talk of her after that, what with the ‘search’ for the Arkenstone, but it was enough for Bilbo to see the fondness in the prince’s eyes when the subject came up.

                The fondness was not wholly one-sided it seemed, for when she caught sight of what was behind the Hobbit, the intake of breath from her was audible. Tauriel approached hastily but nonetheless graceful, and he let her pass while lowering his sword, knowing she had nothing to gain from harming the boys. The elf gave Fili a quick look over before coming to the same conclusion that Bilbo had, and knelt beside Kili. Her brow creased in concern when she placed her hands on the now-red shirt over the wound, lifting it to assess the damage. She visibly tensed, looking up at the Hobbit with an expression that tried to shield her alarm, but failed.

                “He is losing blood too quick,” she cautioned. “But the battle is nearing an end, and we have begun treating the wounded. There may be hope yet if I can take him there, where we have supplies.”

                Bilbo nodded gravely, aware that this elf was his only hope. “Yes, of course.”

                Tauriel had only just begun to take action when a noise sounded above them, from the top of the tower’s remains. The two froze as metal clashing against metal rang out, barely echoing through the wind. They looked up in time to see pebbles and snow shoved off the side of an upper level, landing next to the elf and the hobbit. There was a flash of dark hair where the debris had come from, dangerously close to the edge, and then it was gone again, but that was all that was needed.

                Knowing exactly who was up there, Bilbo gripped his blade tightly. He met the elf’s gaze, silently communicating his intention of going up to the tower. She only nodded, securing the shirt around Kili’s wound in a way that kept it from bleeding so profusely, before picking up both princes as gingerly as she could.

                “I will send help as soon as I can, Halfling,” Tauriel promised, before turning away. Her elven strength and speed was put on display as she carried the two dwarves with ease, swift but careful.

                Bilbo watched her go for only a moment before returning his attention to the tower. It was high up, much higher than he cared to go after his fall from the ramparts, but if Thorin was in danger… He knew he would never forgive himself if anything happened while he had a chance to stop it.

                The decrepit building was part rock, part man-made structure, and the bottom width made it look almost like a small mountain. Bilbo ventured further out around the corner, past the orc bodies, and found what he was looking for. A stone staircase led up into the tower, but also led downward, into a dark tunnel. He ignored the lower path and made for the other, where the snow had been disturbed profusely, as if from a struggle. The disorder of the white powder did not keep him from spotting two sets of prints however, and he guessed that the larger pair could only belong to one pale orc. The trail disappeared into the building, where the snow could not reach, and Bilbo carefully made his way up the largest segment of stairs to this point. Once inside, he continued upward with the inner staircases, before they took him back out to a platform on one of the higher levels that wrapped around the side of the building. Being back outside again, he could see how far down the ground was, and this did nothing to settle his nerves.

                In the center of the platform was a final set of stairs, which led into a large balcony-like area with crumbling stone walls on the left and right, and Bilbo could hear the sounds of fighting as he ascended the steps. He crept upward with one hand on the step in front of him, and the other keeping a tight hold on Sting. His heart beat wildly with apprehension, and he was surprised he could hear anything over the drumming in his ears. When a shout of pain came from the level he was approaching, all caution was tossed to the wind when he recognized it as Thorin’s voice.

                Bilbo sped up the remaining steps, freezing in motion when he reached the spacious balcony and saw what awaited him. On the opposite end, right on the edge of the drop off, Thorin was pinned to the ground by the pale orc. The sight of Thorin alone would have been enough to crumple Bilbo, with memories of the last time they saw each still so fresh in his mind, but the situation made it all the worse. Azog’s blade was imbedded deep in the king’s shoulder, who gritted his teeth in pain while struggling to pull the orc’s arm away, and a cruel laugh echoed from Azog as he twisted the weapon. Thorin took a sharp breath, obviously trying not to cry out again, and the sight made rage spark to life in the Hobbit. Gold sickness or no, he could not stand by and let Thorin be killed.

                His feet charged forward of their own accord as he brought up Sting, and though Bilbo’s footfalls were quieter than most would have been, he had thrown stealth to the wind. The rapid _pit-pat_ went unnoticed until he was nearly at the orc’s back, his small sword brought up in preparation for a hit. Thorin’s eyes were the first to flicker over, confusion painting his features. His shift in attention caused Azog to whirl at the last second, ripping his blade from the dwarf, whose face scrunched with pain. Bilbo’s anger-fueled attack was blocked and batted away like nothing as the pale orc stood to his full height. Within that moment, their eyes met, and the Hobbit knew Azog remembered him from the Misty Mountains, as the one who prevented him from ending Thorin last time as well.

                Recognition and fury crossed the orc’s face as he snarled dangerously in his language, and Bilbo was glad he did not know what kind of threat was being thrown his way. Azog lashed out with a long stroke, and he had to duck and step back quickly in order to keep his head attached. Another slice, downward this time, had the Hobbit nearly tripping over himself to maneuver away, the metal screeching thankfully against stone instead of his leg. There was a brief moment when the orc lifted his weapon, allowing Bilbo to dash underneath the oncoming attack and make a jab with his sword. He felt accomplished for a moment when blade pierced armor and flesh, digging into Azog’s side, but the victory was short-lived. It was only just as he pulled Sting free and turned to his enemy once more that a fist flew out of nowhere, colliding with his face.

                Bilbo’s back hit the ground before he even knew he had fallen. Sting clattered beside him as stars clustered in his vision, causing him to blink hard, trying to disperse them before another attack came. He barely registered the taste of blood in his mouth before a massive hand wrapped around his throat, lifting him from the stone floor harshly. It became hard to breathe when his feet left the ground, and he gripped the orc’s hand to pry against it in vain. Dread soaked into his bones when Azog began to move towards the edge of the balcony.

                The Hobbit directed his sight to where Thorin lay, blue eyes locked on him and attempting to get up. A decent amount of blood stained the king’s clothing, not only from the puncture in his shoulder but from various smaller wounds as well, though it didn’t appear to be of any concern to him. The strain that the movement caused was obvious. Why was he struggling to come to Bilbo’s aid, after what had transpired? Was it possible, perhaps, that he broke free of the gold sickness during their time apart?

                It really didn’t matter either way, he thought grimly, as Azog reached the edge of the platform. Whatever the dwarf’s mental state, they would both be dead soon. Bilbo would be thrown over the side of a tall structure – oh Eru, _again_ – and then Azog would finish off the king just as he was doing before the interruption. There would be no moat to save him, and even if he miraculously went flying twenty extra feet outward, the only water was the frozen river behind him. His luck had finally run out, he lamented. He had done what he could to help Thorin and it was beyond his control now. The hand around his throat had only grown tighter, his vision becoming dim and hazy with speed that should have worried him. Perhaps it did, to an extent, but his focus was elsewhere. The Hobbit shifted his dwindling gaze to the blurry form of Thorin, who seemed closer than before. He regretted not being able to see the dwarf in detail one final time, and had enough left in him to realize the irony.

                The king’s shadowy blur behind the pale orc rushed towards them. This was the last thing Bilbo glimpsed before his world went black and he was dropped over the precipice.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowow sorry this took a bit longer, though it is a slightly longer chapter. I had work, yes, but it was also kind of hard to write certain aspects. Either way, hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Stay tuned for Thorin's view on this little situation. ;)


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